


Pillow Queen

by graiai



Series: in se magna ruunt [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, M/M, Pre-Canon, Service Kink, Unification of Ilsabard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24616897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graiai/pseuds/graiai
Summary: “Have you ever had a man?” iyl Galvus asks, far more casually than van Darnus believes the question warrants.
Relationships: Nael van Darnus' Father/Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch
Series: in se magna ruunt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588018
Comments: 3
Kudos: 18





	Pillow Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horsechiffon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horsechiffon/gifts).



The Hyur stands at attention in tribunal uniform before the entry to his legatus’ tent, the deep shade of his eyes standing out as he stares properly past van Darnus’ shoulder. “Are you expected, sir?” 

For a moment, van Darnus hesitates. Only a few weeks ago, he had received word iyl Galvus’ eldest son had succumbed to illness—and so soon after the loss of his wife. While van Darnus brings word of victory, it is only minor; perhaps iyl Galvus would rather be left alone, and cannot be cheered by an old friend with news of a minor Landiser stronghold fallen with minimal losses. 

But the hesitation lasts only for a moment. “No,” he admits to the Hyuran tribunus. “I am not expected, but he will want to see me.” 

It seems indeed iyl Galvus expected no visitors: not at his desk but reclining on the chaise upon which he takes his supper, though that must have been some hours past. The plate and its few scraps lies forgotten atop a table. Papers are strewn about it, and about iyl Galvus himself—van Darnus knows better than most his work has no end, and moreso by the day—but perhaps owing to his earlier meal he has already had himself dressed for the evening. His plate lies arranged on a dress form, and he wears not even the tight-fitting layers suited to armor but a traditional chiton in the particular style he favors, ornate pins arranged too loosely across narrow shoulders and his skirt worn long enough nearly to drag upon the ground. 

For his part, van Darnus removes his silver helm. 

“Ah, Darnus!” He seems in high enough spirits despite the profound losses his household has so recently suffered, and despite the half-drunk glass of wine he so casually holds in his hand the sharpness of his gaze bespeaks no inebriation which might otherwise explain a manner odd even for him—but whether his mood is genuine is not for van Darnus to decide. “I see you’ve met sas Gabranth! What do you think of him?” 

He hesitates to answer, looking instead at only the stain wine has left upon iyl Galvus’ lower lip. He looks well-kissed, and van Darnus is no stranger to the desire which begins to rise in his own belly—but it is not his place, not here where they are iyl Galvus and van Darnus, grown men leading armies, to act upon it. Næl Darnus, a fool at fifteen, could want Solus Galvus and mourn his enlistment; sas Darnus and sas Galvus could remain at least friends. To van Darnus, iyl Galvus can be nothing but a superior. 

“Speak your mind,” iyl Galvus allows when still van Darnus has said nothing at all. 

“Well, sir, quite frankly… is it wise to have a Landiser for a tribunus when we’ve still to take their capital? What reason has he to remain loyal?” 

“Never you mind that. I’ve plenty a tight grip on his leash.” An afterthought: “And we’ll have the capital by summer’s end.” 

“Of course, sir,” van Darnus agrees. “Anything as you say.” 

“Anything?” iyl Galvus plucks from his words. He lifts his head an ilm from where it had lolled without a care, and there is mischief shining bright in his eyes that van Darnus can recognize from their time as boys, stealing away to make messes of each other and leave lips swollen, hands sticky, and clothes askew—all to be righted before dinner with no one but the servants the wiser. 

“Yes, sir,” van Darnus says at once, his gaze and tone all he has at his disposal to convey the depth of his respect, iyl Galvus deserving of a higher honor entirely. Only upon seeing the turn of iyl Galvus’ lip, the line of his bare throat when he lets his head fall, does he consider what iyl Galvus may dare imply. 

“You flatter me, Darnus.” He beckons with a casual motion that nearly spills his wine. “Come here.” 

Were it any other man, van Darnus would refuse, and turn on his heel before either of them could suffer further disgrace. But Solus iyl Galvus is not any man—not a man at all, claim some few allies and detractors both, for the brilliance of his vision and the single-mindedness by which he pursues it. So van Darnus himself has said: since their youth there has been a light behind Solus’ eyes, a spirit Darnus could not name but which sparked in him a wholehearted belief in that resolution. In the years since van Darnus has seen him inspire men to take up arms by the thousands in woven armor with only contraptions and his word that they do not march to their own slaughter; place ceruleum turbines in machines heavier than air that they might fly; deliver Nhalmasque and soon Landis into the Republic’s hand, and so too claiming he will all Ilsabard. On this faith van Darnus has risked his life and would again, and gladly, for to be on the wrong side of Solus iyl Galvus is to be on the wrong side of history. 

And van Darnus, for better or worse, _is_ but a man. He steps forward with conviction as ever to iyl Galvus’ side, and falls to his knees before him. 

With a laugh, iyl Galvus reaches out to him, tilting up van Darnus’ chin with a finger. Reclining as he is, they are nearly eye to eye, and van Darnus is uncertain if he should cast his down. “Not like that,” iyl Galvus says, no trace of castigation in his voice but old fondness van Darnus had thought forgotten. “Not today. Come, join me.” 

Though the ground van Darnus treads is uncertain—far more mystifying to be wanted at iyl Galvus’ side than kneeling to suck his superior’s cock—he is more than glad to comply. A flick of iyl Galvus’ wrist has a silent peregrinus assist van Darnus in removing the rest of his armor before he moves to settle on the chaise beside the man who was once his lover and now is all but his god; iyl Galvus shifts his weight and the voluminous folds of his skirt to allow van Darnus the honor. 

Satisfied, iyl Galvus casts his gaze all about the room, alighting at last upon a bowl of oil on the table, as untouched as the bread on his plate. “Ah,” he says softly, “this will do very well,” and sets his wine glass aside on the floor to make a claw of his hand and grab up the fine porcelain bowl by its painted rim. 

Were he to be fucked, van Darnus would not have been invited to rest beside iyl Galvus as if they were equals once more, for while he has always liked his games that would be insult to a man van Darnus hopes he still considers something of a friend. But there are other acts facilitated so, many of which they had once indulged in. Often enough van Darnus had taken iyl Galvus between his thighs, and so as well iyl Galvus had taken him; should he mean to order van Darnus to lower his trousers to have the same of him now, it would be his privilege to obey. 

Depositing the bowl into the waiting cup of his other hand, iyl Galvus presents the bowl to van Darnus beside him. “Have you ever had a man?” he asks, far more casually than van Darnus believes the question warrants. Retrieving his glass for only a single sip, a droplet of wine settles on iyl Galvus’ lip amid the dry cracks inescapable in these climes. “Or a boy?” 

“I have,” van Darnus affirms uncertainly, and takes the proffered bowl even moreso. With wide eyes he watches iyl Galvus bend to collect his skirts by their hem, baring his knees, his firm thighs, corded finely with muscle beneath sparse, dark hair—and does not stop even there, but lays himself bare to the waist. His cock rests on his thigh, attractively small amid finely trimmed hair. The head peeks from beneath his foreskin, a lighter shade of pink than his lips for only the stain of the wine he is drinking. 

“You know what to do, then.” Though soft, he is clearly pleased, and van Darnus can harbor no doubt he had answered correctly, nor of what is expected of him now. 

Dipping his fingertips into the shallow bowl, van Darnus coats them generously in oil. His eyes do not stray from iyl Galvus, who lifts his knee and cants his hips to allow van Darnus more access, and in this state van Darnus had thought a man could look only vulnerable iyl Galvus’ confident shamelessness has him in mind of some figure from Allagan legend, if not a god outright then the son of one, a man for whom mortality is only a beginning. 

He catches iyl Galvus’ eye, and perhaps it is bold of him to be so familiar, but amidst all the rest of this it seems a fair presumption. “Go on,” iyl Galvus confirms with the faintest of raised brows. “Start with two.” 

As ever, van Darnus does as he’s told. While he has had men before, _this_ he has not done—those men coming to him having prepared themselves, and having never considered to slip oiled fingers between his own legs. He thinks that he would gasp for the intrusion—no, the violation—of something like fingers pressing past his rim, but the rhythm of iyl Galvus’ breath does not so much as falter, and he only lifts his hips an ilm to give van Darnus a better angle. 

He knows not where to look—at iyl Galvus’ face, his eyelids fluttered closed as he breathes shallowly through parted lips? At his own fingers, swallowed up by him and shiny with oil as he searches for some angle or depth that will most please when he has been offered no guidance? At iyl Galvus’ cock, still soft against his thigh but beginning finally to stir? Heat burns in his own cheeks, for it has been so long since last they were intimate it seems he now barely remembers how to be. 

“Curl your fingers,” iyl Galvus orders, soft-voiced. “Yes, like that.” He can feel the difference, the pads of his fingers inside of iyl Galvus dragging over something small and almost firm, which has his voice growing airy and his legs falling further open. The insides of his thighs are wet with oil which gleams in the soft yellow light of what are still traditional lamps, though van Darnus expects soon they too will be replaced with the eerie blue glow of the new ceruleum gaslights. 

But it is upon iyl Galvus’ cock that van Darnus’ gaze settles, both beautiful to look upon and a measure of van Darnus’ skill—or lack thereof—in these matters. He can see that iyl Galvus is now half-hard, pre building up on the head of his cock, a strand of it unbroken between his cockhead and thigh; van Darnus’ own cock twitches in interest for such evidence of his pleasure. Still van Darnus will not dare to touch himself lest iyl Galvus gives him leave, and though iyl Galvus once reaches out, it is only to take up his wine once again. 

“I am told,” he says after a sip, “that Landiser wine is some of the best in Ilsabard. It’s not bad, I suppose. Another finger, would you?” The calm of his voice betrays not at all the way his cock leaks, full and heavy in his lap, nor does he falter as van Darnus obliges him, curling now three fingers which press in to the knuckle. “You’ve tried it, haven’t you? Why, it must have been the VIIth which delivered it here.” 

He is dressed, and untouched, and mostly soft in the confines of his trousers. Yet van Darnus must clear his throat before he says, “No, sir, I’m afraid I haven’t,” and still his voice sounds strangled to his ears. He cannot look away from the hedonistic display iyl Galvus puts on not—not _for_ him, but by his hand nonetheless. 

“Well, _that_ is an oversight clearly in need of correcting,” iyl Galvus says, light with the edges of laughter. “Come,” and he brings the crystal forward so that van Darnus might meet him halfway. Like this, van Darnus is but ilms from his hard cock, and so easily could take it into his mouth. Instead, he rises as bid, meeting the edge of iyl Galvus’ glass with his lips. It is the closest they’ve been to a kiss in a decade; likewise van Darnus’ eyes fall closed as iyl Galvus presses gently forward, but now merely guides his head back to wordlessly bid him drink. His fingers fall still deep inside iyl Galvus as he swallows, and for all van Darnus can discern the taste it could be the finest wine or the filthiest well-water which he drinks from iyl Galvus’ hand. 

“Thank you,” van Darnus breathes when the glass is taken away, and he does not mean for the wine. Inside his trousers, he aches, but without iyl Galvus’ permission he will make no move to relieve his own need, and to watch van Darnus in pleasure is not iyl Galvus’ desire. He has ever been selfish in such matters, even when they were still boys: guiding van Darnus’ hand to his cock when he offered up his thighs but never granting van Darnus the same, or letting himself be kissed with only his fingers threaded loosely in van Darnus’ hair. 

Languorous as ever, iyl Galvus allows van Darnus to fumble towards his pleasure, learning how to coax first soft, contented sounds from his throat and then low moans with only the pump of his curled fingers and the drag of blunt nails inside of him. Another man, van Darnus supposes, would clutch at his partner’s hair, as van Darnus has always himself done when he dirties another’s mouth; iyl Galvus only clutches the upholstery, the crystal rim of his glass. His knuckles are white for the force of his grip when at last with a cry van Darnus feels pride to have won from him, iyl Galvus comes for nothing but the fingers inside of him and the heat of van Darnus’ breath over his cock. 

Spend making a mess of the expensive silks of his chiton, and the glass—but a few sips left—falling forgotten to the floor, iyl Galvus relaxes into the chaise, hands and breath and even his rim stretched around van Darnus’ fingers softening, all his tenseness wrung from him with his release. He gives van Darnus no order, neither to leave nor warm his cock nor—hells below—take himself in hand, and so despite an aching wrist van Darnus remains as he is, rocking his hand gently, keeping iyl Galvus full.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch us on twitter at @solusiylgalvus and @euladarnus or at our main AO3s: [Arianne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianne) & [patrexes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patrexes).


End file.
